“My Mom never gets a good night’s sleep. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Mere formality. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. “I don’t know where to go to. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. My politics in that matter wouldn’t be to give women votes.
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